At Arm's Length
by whimseyrhodes
Summary: Tag and Missing Scene s  for The Boost Job. Spoilers within. Rated for language.
1. Chapter 1

Missing Scene(s) and spoilers: The Boost Job

Disclaimers: Standard...Want 'em, but can't have 'em. At least that's what the Alphabet People say.

A/N: Anybody else notice that during the roundy-round at the end of the episode that Eliot wasn't eating? This could be why. Also, pdljmpr6 mentioned on Twitter her yearning for a tag to 'The Boost Job' where Eliot got hit by a car. I rewatched the scene, and this formerly-fluffy-now-soaked-plot-bunny started gnawing on my knee. So, without further ado, here it is.

At Arm's Length

'_Flying through the air with the greatest of ease_...' That should be his motto by now, he thought idly as his feet left the ground. Then his shoulder and head hit the hood of the car with a sickening thud and all thought was gone as he sailed over the roof. Dizziness assaulted him and he expected the hard concrete landing and broken bones that would follow and braced himself for it, temporarily ignoring the blinding pain that slashed through his skull. Instead Eliot fell, and kept falling until he splashed into the water below.

Water drove up his nose and into his throat as he reflexively gasped, thrashing in the murky depths. He opened his eyes but couldn't see anything except grey-green and miniature bubbles, churning around him as if a giant spoon was stirring the harbor like its own oversized teacup. His lungs burned for oxygen and he kicked upwards, straining towards the tauntingly flashing light above him.

He broke the surface, gasping and coughing, bobbing up and down, unable to keep himself above water. His arms flailed at the water, and then he banged up against something. A piling. He grabbed at it, choking and hacking more water out of his lungs. Looking up he saw that the current had pulled him under the docks.

He held onto the dock piling for a few minutes while he tried to just _breathe_, and as soon as his body stopped shaking he started to swim towards the ladder.

Cracks of gunfire on the pier above him hurried his strokes, and he grabbed at the wooden slats, climbing quickly. His job was to protect them, dammit, not wallow in the water like some damn celebutant basking in a spa! One more rung on the ladder and then he was sliding around the shipping containers that he had tried to use for cover earlier, absently noting the new gunshot holes in the metal. He peered around the corner and saw the three men holding Parker and Hardison at gunpoint, their hands held up in the air.

Walking silently despite the water squelching in his boots, Eliot came up behind the three and saw the smirks on his teammates faces, and heard the questions of the three lone gunmen.

Then there was no more time for silence. He punched, kicked and threw his opponents to the ground, satisfied every time his fist landed with a _crunch_. Too soon the fight was over, and he looked over at Parker with a semi-surprised eyebrow raise after she helped silence the last of them. It was true, she was a good student who took his training and suggestions to heart, and used them when necessary, to his and the others' benefit.

He stepped back and shook the water out of his eyes. _Mistake!_ He fought the rising nausea and white spots dancing around his vision, but the squeal of brakes distracted him from the pain.

He watched as Josie pulled up with the car, and they all made a mad dash for it with Eliot ending up in the backseat next to the young thief-to-be. This wouldn't normally be a bad place for Eliot, but for the fact that _Parker_ was in the driver's seat. Usually he would just hold on to the back of the passenger's seat and shut up, but the pounding in his head and her maniacal driving made his stomach lurch warningly and ratcheted up his crankiness levels.

In between the yelling and bickering, the death metal band in his head started up an evil drum solo and white hot knives of pain stabbed him behind the eyes. He knew he was growling more than usual when he saw the irritated glances that Parker kept throwing back at him in the mirror, but he couldn't make himself stop. When she took a wild left turn that threw Josie into his lap, the young girl leapt back to her side of the car with alacrity, not wanting to be anywhere near the pissed off hitter.

Too soon she pulled up in the back of Penzer Automotive and Eliot bailed out of the backseat, adrenalin once again pumping through his veins. He ran to the back door, growling out, "Move over!" to Josie, and then barreled through the back door to rescue Nate and Sophie. A few lucky strikes from the Russian made his head spin even faster, but he hid it in the rush to get them out to the car.

Crammed in the back of the car he didn't feel any better. The young thief was sitting on his lap and with both Nate and Sophie sitting in the back seat, he was pushed into the side of the door feeling like the first sardine in the can. Add to that Josie's elbow pressing into his already sore and probably cracked ribs, and that little sardine was feeling mighty flattened indeed. Thankfully it was only a couple of blocks to the dealership, but the closeness of the others grated on his worn nerves.

The doors opened up and Eliot could finally breathe, and if he sat in the car for an extra moment to fill his squashed and aching lungs, no one noticed.

Back at McRory's as the team sat around the table bantering Eliot listened from the kitchen, throwing out jibes every once in a while. His head was still throbbing with the headache from hell and the stifling heat wasn't helping. Sweat dripped off his chin and he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead again, wincing when it brushed against his right temple.

Eliot was thankful that no one was in the prep area now, as he would have had a hard time explaining why it took him three times as long as normal for him to chop the carrots. The damn things kept moving on him. Well, maybe that was just the way his eyes kept wanting to refocus. He was lucky he didn't cut up his fingers instead.

Finally he was able to bring the meal to the table and everyone dug in with hearty appetites, a sight he never got tired of, no matter how badly he was hurt. That they enjoyed his food so much was a sort of balm on his pains. They did appreciate him, if only for their stomachs.

"Hey, man," Hardison said after his third helping of fries. "Ain'tcha gonna eat?"

Parker looked up at that and frowned, her brows quirking as she tilted her head. "What'sa matter Sparky? You not hungry?"

"Naw," he said easily, his stomach practically roiling with the thought and scents of food in his nostrils. "Ate back there," he lied easily as he jerked his head toward the kitchen, clenching his jaw tightly around a smile as his head reminded him that it did _not_ want to be jerked around right now, thank you very much.

He listened to their playful bickering as he sat back in his chair, sipping on his beer and joining in a few times, like when Nate tried to convince him that his car wasn't his anymore. Damn Hardison and his electronic fiddling. He'd get that pink slip back sooner than later, he swore.

His stomach did a slow barrel roll then, and he swallowed. Hard. Making some lame excuse to go back into the kitchen, he changed course as soon as he was out of their sight and ran for the bathroom.

He threw open the door to the stall and dropped to his knees, barely time to brace himself before his stomach angrily tossed its contents back up his throat. His abdomen clenched and the pain from his cracked ribs made stars burst around his vision. He heard himself moaning as he retched but he couldn't make himself stop. Breathing deeply through his nose, he tried to force his stomach to settle, but it had its own plans. He heaved again as he braced his shaking forearms on the porcelain.

"Eliot?"

Dammit Hardison.

The door of the bathroom shut and he heard footsteps coming up behind him. "Aw, _dayum_, man," he heard. "Why didn't you tell us, ya damn hard-headed, mule-brained..."

The voice trailed off muttering, and he heard water splashing in the background. A cool cloth was placed on the back of his neck when the footsteps returned, and he could only nod in acknowledgement as he put his forehead on his arm, panting.

His face grew hot again and the stars returned, a little moan escaping him. He dimly felt his hair being held back and a hand rubbing his back as he heaved a third time, the muscles in his abdomen and chest tightening, bringing up nothing this time but bile.

He felt Hardison reach over to flush the toilet, removing the nastiness from in front of his face, and a paper cup of water appeared in front of him. He took it with a shaking hand, and rinsed out his mouth before handing it back. Exhausted and in pain from the simple act, he sat back on the floor and dropped his head onto his arms. The cloth was replaced with another, and then he felt Hardison wiping his forehead. He jerked away. _Oh_. _Bad_ idea. Eliot felt himself losing his balance before strong hands gripped his shoulders, bringing him back to center.

Sympathetic noises in the background were joined by another voice. Nate.

Shit. Even better.

"What happened?"

"Found him like this, Nate. Looks like he hit his head harder than we thought."

He could almost hear the wheels turning in Nate's head without even looking at him.

"Alright, let's get him upstairs."

"I _am_ right here, ya know," Eliot growled, his eyes still closed.

A hand reached under his arm and helped him stand. Eliot swayed a little and Hardison kept his hand on him until he steadied enough to walk out of the stall. Three Nate's stood in front of him and he screwed his eyes shut, swearing as he put a hand to his head. The pounding was more intense right now, and the overhead light lanced into the back of his brain.

He must have stumbled, because hands gripped his sides and pulled his arms up, sliding them across shoulders that were slightly taller than he was. He kept his eyes closed against the light and his head down; for some reason it helped a little with the pain. Arms slid around his waist to steady him, and he let them lead him forward as he concentrated on keeping his feet under him.

They went out into the bar, but even though they were the only ones in the room, he still felt vulnerable. He heard Sophie's muted cry of dismay as she saw them and she and Parker were suddenly beside them.

"Sparky?" the blond said, and her voice slammed into his head like a hammer. He must have made some sound and movement, because Sophie started 'shushing' her immediately and the hands on his wrists and sides tightened. He felt rather than heard the two women following them up to the apartment.

The stairs were hell. Not because he was clenching his eyes shut and couldn't see, but because with each step he had to guess its height and every once in a while he miscalculated and came down harder than he anticipated, jarring his over-sensitive head. Nate and Hardison took it slowly though, never faster than he could manage, and even stopped a few times to let him catch his breath. Man, there should be a law against steps being this hard to maneuver.

Finally they were on the second floor and they walked to Nate's door. Eliot wondered absently why they were walking so slowly. Then he stumbled and remembered that it was because of him when pain flared across the back of his eyes again.

"Easy, Eliot," a voice whispered near his ear. Even softly spoken, the words hurt. "Almost there."

The door opened and they led him inside, helping him down onto the couch. His eyes still clenched tightly, he groaned as his stomach threatened again, and he clamped his arm around his middle. He felt hands lowering him to the cushions and he didn't fight them this time.

A cold cloth was placed on his forehead, and another one across his eyes. He sighed and let himself relax into their care.

At arm's length was where he usually stayed, but every once in a while, they managed to creep inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Tag to: The Boost Job

Disclaimers: Standard...Want 'em, but can't have 'em. At least that's what the Alphabet People say.

A/N: This is for those of you out there who wanted more...haha, and I deliver. I didn't mark the story as "Complete" for this very reason.

At Arm's Length

Nate sat back, watching the hitter lying on the couch. A cloth covered his eyes, but he could still see the lines of pain etched into the man's face. He thought back to the moment that Penzer had told him so callously that he had had Eliot 'taken care of', and the way his heart had stopped. Then he heard Parker and Hardison bantering back and forth in the car and he had known Eliot was alive, and the traitorous organ had started beating again.

He remembered Eliot coming into the office like an F5 tornado, all whirling fists and anger, pinning the Russian to the wall and then the floor, pulling them out of the office and out to the safety of the car.

The mastermind thought back and recalled that it had taken Eliot a few extra moments to get out of the car when they reached Art's Auto Sales and he now realized that Eliot had been fighting the effects even then.

Eliot groaned, his arm tightening around his stomach, and Nate knew that the nausea hadn't abated. He moved towards the hitter, the cloths falling from his suddenly red face as he bolted upright so he helped him stand, holding his arm around the man as he rushed for the bathroom.

* * *

Eliot tried to ignore the sickness in his gut that made him sweat and pant shallowly, but then his stomach lurched and he knew he was going to hurl. He sat up quickly _oh that was another really bad idea_ and felt hands on his arm, helping him stand. Nate.

He lurched in the direction of the bathroom, trusting Nate not to let him run headfirst into a wall, and just made it before his gut cramped up again. He knelt over the porcelain with his arms braced on the seat as his stomach convulsed again and again. The muscles in his chest tightened and his cracked ribs protested loudly, the pain ratcheting up higher and higher every time his rebellious stomach clenched. He panted shallowly, trying to control the nausea, but this was the worst he'd ever experienced. Usually he would throw up once, maybe twice after a head wound, but this wasn't ending.

Another cool cloth was placed on the back of his neck, and he heard voices in the background.

His stomach spasmed again, and he doubled over, nearly cracking his head on the porcelain again. Agony shot through his chest as he felt bones shift out of place and he cried out, wrapping his arm around his chest. He felt hands on him then, pulling him back from the toilet and laying him down on the floor.

He had no idea how long he lay there, panting as he tried to control the agony. The nausea was put on the back burner as the burning pain in his ribs made itself known. His cracked ribs had broken under the onslaught of continuously tightening muscles, and when they had shifted, a piercing pain had shot through his lung. In one part of his brain he was afraid he already knew what had happened, but the stubborn part of his brain smashed the other into submission, refusing to even think about it.

Finally he opened his eyes and the room swam until he blinked a few times. It came slowly into focus and four worried faces appeared.

"Eliot, man," Hardison's voice was full of concern, "You ok?"

He saw Sophie ease Parker back as Nate and Hardison came closer, their hands on his shoulders. He nodded slightly, knowing that they didn't believe him. He closed his eyes again and swallowed against yet more lightheadedness, and he heard them talking in low voices.

"Maybe... take him...the hospital, Nate." Sophie.

"_No_," he panted. "No hospital," he struggled to form the words, cracking his eyes open again. "Just...help me back...to the couch." He started to sit up and hands were on his arms and behind his shoulders, lifting. Thank God they did, or he'd have been flopping on the floor like a fish. The shooting agony in his ribs doubled as he sat up, and he gasped, his hands tightening into fists in their shirts.

Eliot breathed through his nose until the pain died down a bit, and then he growled, "Up." If he was lucky, the broken ribs would give him no more problem than just pain, and he could live with that.

Once again they slid his arms over their shoulders and stood slowly, letting him get his feet under himself. When he was steady, they walked him out to the living room and once more lowered him onto the sofa, easing him back onto the cushions. Sophie put the cloth over his eyes again, and he tried to get his breathing back under control and the fire in his chest to a manageable level.

* * *

Nate sat back into the chair again, doubly worried. The nausea had abated a little after that final episode, but the way Eliot had cried out in pain and clamped his arm around his chest was troublesome. He remembered the grimace of pure agony on the hitter's face when they had laid him down and the breathy moans that had escaped between his clenched teeth. He didn't even know if Eliot had been aware that he was making those sounds.

They had bathed the sweat from his forehead without him being aware, and when they called his name, he hadn't answered for the longest time. In true Eliot-fashion, however, the instant the word 'hospital' had been mentioned, he was back. Sweating, shivering, panting...but back.

He looked up at the hitter and noticed with some alarm that he seemed to be breathing more heavily and he leaned forward. Eliot's face was pale, and sweat ran down the sides of his face and neck.

Nate watched in concern as Eliot twitched a little, his breath a gasp, and then turn his head away. He sat back and vowed to watch the hitter more closely from now on. He realized that while Eliot took the hits, they rarely noticed his injuries, aside from the occasional ice pack or Parker's poke in the sides to annoy him. More and more they counted on Eliot to just _be _there, and he realized that more and more, Eliot was getting hurt to protect them. It bothered him that it bothered him.

Parker came up to the couch then, watching Eliot with a small frown on her face.

"I didn't mean it," she said quietly.

"Mean what?" Nate asked her.

She raised her eyes from Eliot's sleeping body to him, her eyes wide and a little fearful. "I told him to get over it," she said. "I didn't know he was really hurt. He was yelling." She looked back at Eliot. "He always yells when he's ok."

Nate nodded at her, not knowing what to say when Sophie came up behind the girl and put her hands on Parker's shoulders and led her away. Parker's head swiveled to keep watching Eliot, but then Sophie took her into the kitchen and sat her down at the table.

Hardison came over then and sat down in the chair next to Nate. He was looking at Eliot when he said, "Ya know, I think we all believe he's invulnerable," he said. "Like Batman or somethin'."

"Yeah," Nate said. "And we're surprised when he falls."

Hardison's lips curled up in a grimace, as if disgusted with himself. "Parker's right. He yells when he's ok..." he paused. "I really thought he was ok, man. I mean, he was yellin' and cussin' and everything..." he trailed off and hung his head.

"We fucked up. Didn't see it."

"Yes, we did," Nate said. "But we won't again. I think we've learned our lesson."

He watched Hardison nod out of the corner of his eye, his attention still on Eliot. The hitter twitched again, a wheeze in his throat. When he turned his head, Nate gasped in shock. Blood was pouring from the hitter's nose, covering his chin.

"Sophie! Get towels!" He yelled to the grifter as he jumped out of his chair. He knelt by Eliot and grabbed the cloth that had been covering Eliot's eyes and held it to the hitter's nose, tilting his head back and making sure he wasn't blocking Eliot's mouth.

Sophie ran over to him, paper towels in hand and let out a shriek of dismay. Parker leaped from the kitchen table to see what the commotion was, and Hardison intercepted her before she could get in the way. She watched in horror as Nate tried to stop the bleeding.

"Eliot, Eliot can you hear me?" Sophie asked, her hands stroking his head. "Eliot, wake up," she pleaded.

Eliot coughed then, and they saw blood on his lips, a trail sliding down his face from the corner of his mouth.

"Hardison, call 911!" Nate yelled.

"Already on it!" Hardison said, phone in hand, urging the operator on the other end with a desperation he hadn't known before.

"Eliot...Eliot, wake up, sweetheart," Sophie kept saying, the mantra sliding from her lips with a frantic pace.

Eliot's eyes fluttered open and she sighed. Her relief was short lived when his eyes filled with panic as his lungs and chest filled with blood.

* * *

Eliot heard voices near his ear and drifted toward them. The horrendous headache from before was even worse, if that was possible, and he felt like each hair on his head was being ripped out by the roots.

He opened his eyes, his lids fluttering until they focused on the face in front of him: Sophie. He saw her smile slightly, but then there was a more pressing problem: he couldn't breathe.

Panic filled him as he struggled for breath, and he felt something covering his nose. He looked down and saw Nate holding a rag against his lower face. He raised his hands and tried to grab Nate's but he could barely move. His hands grasped Nate's wrists weakly, fighting to push him away.

"...'ate..." he forced out on a whisper, "...can...'t ... bre...eathe..."

"Ambulance will be here in a few minutes," he heard Hardison say, and he felt hands grab his and pull them away from Nate's. Darkness crept around the edges of his vision and he felt himself being lifted up a little, his shoulders and head elevated and held against a strong chest.

He could breathe a little better sitting partially up, and he sucked in breaths as deeply as he could, his lungs wheezing with the effort. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, hearing his teammates encouraging him in the background.

He heard knocking on the door and opened his eyes to see Parker fly to answer it, and then two men entered with bags over their shoulders and a stretcher behind them. While he absolutely hated anything to do with hospitals and medical treatment, he was never so glad to see them.

* * *

Parker jumped towards the door when she heard the knock and whipped it open, so glad to see the two paramedics waiting there. She grabbed the first one's arm and practically dragged him into the living room to where Hardison was holding the gasping hitter against his chest. The other one followed, and together they ran their initial assessment. A cervical collar was slipped around Eliot's neck and strapped into place against the possibility of aggravating any unknown spinal damage from the hit, and then the first paramedic instructed Hardison to help lay Eliot on the floor. They soon had him stretched out flat on his back; Eliot started wheezing as soon as his back touched the floor, and more blood flowed out of his mouth and nose.

She watched as the first paramedic, whose nametag read 'Kevin', strapped an oxygen mask to Eliot's face, the pure oxygen flowing into his badly compromised lungs.

He looked at his partner, Johnny, and they shared a look. "Pleural effusion, he's not gonna make it to the ER," Parker heard Kevin say.

Johnny nodded. "Thoracostomy, then scoop and run."

Parker looked back and forth between them, hugging her arms around herself. "What does that mean?" she asked Hardison in a small voice. He shrugged. "I don't know, mama."

They watched as they opened their bags and Kevin put on a headset. They heard him contact the ER doctors, and watched as he made more assessments and spewed out more technical jargon. He laid out odd medical tools, and they gasped as they saw scalpels and other bizarre torture-looking instruments.

Johnny used a scissors to quickly slice up the sides of Eliot's shirt and strip it off of him, revealing his bruised shoulder and torso. Her breath hitched as she saw the damage that he had taken, and her callous words of before hit her like a brick. "Get over it?" she said in a small voice, "how's he supposed to get over _that_?" She turned into Hardison's chest and he put his arms around her, still staring down at Eliot.

The hacker watched as Eliot writhed on the floor, trying to get into a position where he could breathe, but to no avail. The paramedics raised one of his arms over his head and started draping his chest with blue towels, and he knew something really bad was happening. His arms tightened around Parker and she squirmed, trying to look but yet not wanting to see.

Her eyes widened as she watched them spread a golden-orange liquid over his chest, and then inject something into his side. She watched as Johnny picked up the scalpel and a wicked looking pointed tube and then handed the scalpel to Kevin.

* * *

Eliot fought to breathe. The cool air that pressed against his mouth and nose was heaven, but his blood-filled chest wouldn't let his lungs expand enough to make use of it. He felt the cold of the wooden floor against his heated back, and then hands were on his chest and arms, lifting one above his head. He didn't have the energy to fight them as well as fight for air, so he chose to fight for air.

He felt the sting of multiple injections around his ribcage, and then felt the scalpel bite in. He bit his lips and grunted as the blade went deeper, unable to stop his sharp cry of agony when the paramedic inserted the clamp and opened the incision wide to insert the tube. The pain was excruciating and he moaned in the back of his throat at the pressure when the paramedic inserted his finger into his chest, guiding the tube as it was inserted. He only remotely felt someone holding his arm, his attention centered on the foreign object between his ribs.

Eliot heard the paramedics talking between themselves, but didn't bother to listen. He was concentrating on getting a handle on the pain that shot through his chest every time he inhaled and exhaled. He knew he was moaning, but he couldn't stop.

The good thing was that his lungs could now start to expand properly, the fluid pumping out quickly through the tube taped into his chest cavity. Eliot panted shallowly, trying to move his ribs as little as possible.

His eyes fluttered open and he saw two unfamiliar faces floating above him, talking, but he only heard a dim buzzing in his ears as the hiss of oxygen was pumped back into his lungs. He felt them move his arm back down, and then hands on his side, hip and leg as they log rolled him up and back onto the longboard.

He didn't even have the strength to fight when they strapped him down across his forehead, chest, hips and legs to the board, and could only fight to keep breathing as they lifted him onto the stretcher.

TBC...you knew it, didnt you? Now, press that little button and show me the love ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Missing Scene(s): The Boost Job

Disclaimers: Standard...Want 'em, but can't have 'em. At least that's what the Alphabet People say.

A/N: So sorry about the length of time it is taking me to update my fics. Hope the conclusion doesn't disappoint!

At Arm's Length

With Eliot secured, the paramedics lifted the stretcher onto its wheels without difficulty and quickly put their equipment bags on Eliot's legs for transport, giving Nate instructions to the hospital as they did.

"Is he going to be alright?" Sophie asked anxiously, hovering near the stretcher, Nate's arms around her shoulders.

"We're taking him directly to the OR," Kevin said, "The doctors are ready for him. His chances are good if we can get him there soon, but I can't guarantee anything." With that the two men rolled the stretcher out the door and the rest of the team followed, everything else forgotten except for Sophie, who grabbed her purse on the way out.

The drive to the hospital was hell for them, watching the ambulance weave its way through traffic, having to slow down because of drivers who weren't paying attention.

"Get out of the _way_!" Parker kept screaming at them, sticking her head out of the window of the SUV as they followed close on its heels. Hardison tried to pull her back into the vehicle, but she doggedly wrenched her arm away and stuck her head out again. He gave up.

When they arrived at the Emergency Bay, the ambulance was descended upon by orderlies, who opened the back doors and whisked Eliot away before Nate even had a chance to put the SUV in park. They rushed into the hospital, but he was on the way up to surgery before they got a chance to see him, so Nate went out to repark the vehicle in the parking lot as the others were directed to the surgery waiting area.

LEVERAGE

It was hours later before anyone came with news; Parker had toured the entire top floor of the hospital three times, declaring it one of the easiest places to get in and out of: "Why, the roof access doesn't even have a lock!" She had found multiple points of access on each wing, dozens of ventilation shafts that could, and did, lead to the patients' rooms, the pharmacy, the emergency room, and even the operating theatres. She didn't say if she'd seen the one Eliot was in, but her pale face and trembling hands attested to the answer.

Hardison had cemented their story and IDs with his ever present iPad, and then gone through the histories and resumes of every doctor and nurse in the hospital, figuring out the best specialists and re-directing their case-load to include the hitter.

Nate drank coffee and paced, trying his damndest to ignore the fact that he was in a hospital again, this time waiting to hear news if one of his team was going to live or not, and Sophie tried to calm his steps with soft words of encouragement from the couch where she sat with Hardison.

"Nate," she said for the thirteenth time, finally exasperated. "Sit, please. You're making me dizzy walking around in circles like that."

He started to, but at that moment a doctor in light blue scrubs entered the room.

"Family of Eliot Stavanaugh?" he asked, and Nate bounced right back up, along with the others, who crowded around the man.

"How is he?" "Is he okay?" Can we see him?" The questions blurted out of anxious mouths and he held up a restraining hand.

"He's made it through the surgery to repair his lung, but he's still in rough shape. The crash left him with some torn muscles in his shoulder, several badly cracked ribs and a massive concussion, and frankly, I'm surprised he could function after such a blow."

The team wasn't surprised that Eliot had functioned, and well enough to fight off a mob of men and then fix them dinner afterwards. It was part of Eliot's nature to protect and care for them.

"The nausea he suffered is common after a blow to the head, and the constriction of the chest muscles was enough to snap one of those ribs, which in turn punctured his lung. If you hadn't been with him, he wouldn't have made it. We'll be monitoring him closely to make sure pneumonia doesn't develop. However, he is stabilized now, and we will be moving him into a private room soon."

They heaved a collective sigh of relief and the man left, instructing the nurse at the desk to let them know as soon as Eliot had been settled into his room. Now that he'd come through the surgery, they all inherited Nate's wandering feet and they paced, turning the small waiting room into some sort of bizarre miniature racetrack in slow motion.

Less than an hour later the nurse appeared to lead them to the room; she needn't have bothered since Hardison had already found out the room number, the route and at least half a dozen alternative points of entry and exit for the room. Patiently following the woman, they walked with some trepidation towards the room.

The nurse opened the door for them and quietly left, leaving them to enter of their own volition. They did so with Nate at point and saw Eliot in the bed, looking pale against the white sheets. There was a nasal cannula running under his nose for oxygen, and numerous wires running from his body that connected to monitors that beeped, hummed, and flashed. IVs were inserted into his wrists and another monitor was clipped to his finger, all feeding information to the nurses at the front desk.

They could see bandages wound around the hitter's torso above the blankets, and it was marred by the tube that was still taped into his chest to drain the fluids that were continuing to build up.

Parker's eyes filled immediately and she sniffed, a small, lonely sound, and Hardison put his hands on her shoulders.

"Why did I tell him to just 'Get over it'?" she asked. "It's like we expect him to be...Superman, unable to get hurt."

"We'll be more careful, Parker," Nate promised. "From now on, we'll try to be more careful."

LEVERAGE

Awareness returned slowly, and Eliot first homed in on the rhythmic beeping that seemed to follow his heartbeat. After a time of floating and listening, he realized that it _did_ follow his heartbeat, and then the purrs, clicks and whirrs of other sounds slowly invaded his consciousness.

He listened and extended his other senses before committing to opening his eyes and he felt the presences of others around him. His nose told him that he was in a place of disinfectants and injury, and that, added to the other information he'd gleaned, told him he was in a hospital.

Again.

He stifled the groan of that discovery and opened his eyes. Blinking in the dim light, he looked around sleepily.

"He's awake!" He heard a chirrup above his head and looked up, not half surprised to see Parker's head sticking out of the vent above his bed. He blinked again and watched as she contorted herself to exit the vent, her bare feet straddling him on the bed railings as she eased down. She jumped off the bed, never having even touched him, and landed lightly on the floor, smiling manically the entire time.

He offered her a tired smile in return.

"Hey there, sweetheart," he heard the soft British voice, and a hand settled lightly on his head, avoiding his bruised temple. Sophie stroked his hair away from his face and he closed his eyes for a moment, content to let her mothering instincts care for him for a change.

"Hey, man!" A boisterous voice chimed in, and he opened his eyes to see Hardison's bright white smile directed at him as he held up two Wii controllers. "Got the fishing game set up for us whenever you're ready!"

Eliot would have rolled his eyes except for the fact that his head told him that was a bad idea. He appreciated it giving him advance warning this time.

Moving his gaze to the side he saw Nate sitting in the chair beside him, suit coat wrinkled and tie askew, attesting to the fact that he'd been there probably since Eliot had been brought in. He dipped his head and Nate did as well, acknowledgement passing between the two men.

Eliot watched the others as they occupied themselves, Parker and Hardison teasing each other as they played Wii Fishing, since he had neither the desire nor coordination to at the moment. Nate and Sophie talked quietly between themselves, and if he closed his eyes he could pretend that they were back at Nate's apartment after a post-job briefing.

The hitter frowned as his vision started to sway and spin, making him dizzy. He shook his head lightly, his brow furrowing, but it didn't help.

Eliot heard Nate's soft query, asking him if he was okay, but he didn't answer. He blinked against a sudden lethargy that made him feel like he'd fall asleep in moments, but then gasped loudly, his hands going to his temples as a sudden bolt of pain shot through his head.

LEVERAGE

"Eliot, are you okay?" Nate asked, seeing the hitter shake his head, an expression of confusion on his face. Sophie straightened from her seat as he spoke, her eyes shifting to the hitter as well.

Nate sat straight up in the chair as Eliot moaned, his hands grabbing his head and his face contorted in agony as he twisted sideways in the bed.

"Eliot?" he asked, his voice tight with worry. The others heard his tone of voice and they turned, dropping the controllers and abandoning their fish.

"What is it? What's wrong with him?" Parker's scared voice asked.

Nate reached for the call button but it was too late: Eliot started seizing.

"Sophie, get a nurse!" Nate yelled, rushing to the head of the bed and gently pulling the pillow out from under Eliot's head and lowering the head of the bed until he was flat. Parker started to grab at him but Nate held her back.

"No Parker, don't hold him down, you'll only hurt him worse."

Hardison was on the other side, his hands gently beside Eliot's head to keep him from slamming into the railings.

Two nurses rushed into the room then, with Sophie on their heels as if she were herding them. Nate pulled Parker back as one of them nudged Hardison out of the way. It was one of the hardest things for Nate to wait and watch as Eliot's seizure slowed, then stopped, leaving him lying flat on the bed, unmoving.

"What happened?" the nurse asked, turning to the mastermind.

"He was fine, until a few minutes ago. He looked funny, like he was confused, and then he grabbed his head like it hurt, and then he...he was just seizing." Nate said, feeling Parker shaking in his hands.

"Will he be okay now?" she asked, her voice soft and small.

"I have to check with the doctor," the nurse informed them. "He's probably going to order a CAT scan or an MRI to find out what has happened. But we'll do everything we can to make sure he's alright," she smiled at the blonde thief before walking out the door.

LEVERAGE

The team paced around Eliot's room once more, waiting for him to be brought back from the tests so they would know what was wrong, but unfortunately the hospital wasn't on their schedule.

It was two hours before the door opened and Eliot was wheeled in, the bed returned to its former position and locked into place, the IVs and monitors hooked back up to the unconscious hitter. He was still pale, but the heart monitor showed a steady and sleepy pace, and his blood pressure, while elevated at the time of the seizure, was back to normal. Oxygen was still being supplied through a cannula tucked behind his ears, but he was resting comfortably, from what they could tell.

A doctor followed the orderlies in, carrying Eliot's chart and made sure all of the connections were made, then turned to them as they waited patiently.

"I'm sorry it took so long," he said to Nate, glancing at the chart. "We took a CAT and PET scan, and both showed us a small subdural hematoma, a brain bleed. Those can cause dizziness, confusion, sudden headaches and the seizures that Eliot suffered. From what we can tell, it was caused by the head trauma from the original crash. We have him on an anti-seizure medication right now, and it should allow him to rest and heal with no side-effects. He's sedated right now, so he'll be out for a few more hours."

"Did he aggravate any of his other injuries? His ribs?" Nate wanted to know.

"No, thankfully the seizure was short enough that it didn't cause any other harm. His lungs look good, so there's no worry there either."

Nate nodded and thanked the doctor, letting the door close quietly as he left. Looking back to the bed where the hitter lay motionless, he let out a silent breath.

Sophie walked up to the bed and leaned over, gently brushing a strand of hair out of Eliot's face. He mumbled softly and his eyelids flickered, but there was no other response.

"Damn," Hardison said softly. "Dude's like a cat. Got nine lives."

"Let's just hope he still has more," Sophie's softly accented voice said. "In his line of work, he needs them."

Like the doctor had said, a few hours later Eliot started to stir. He blinked slowly, his eyes focusing on the ceiling as his brain processed his whereabouts. He already knew that his team was there, so he didn't bother with faking sleep like he normally did when waking in a foreign place.

A gentle hand smoothed his forehead and he looked up into Sophie's smiling dark eyes. "About time you woke up," she chided. "You've been sleeping for hours. How are you feeling?"

He took a moment to answer and heard the others moving. His ribs ached, his lung felt like there was a poker going through his chest if he moved wrong and his head throbbed, but he only said his customary, "I'm fine."

Her eyes lost their sparkle as she tilted her head at his lie, but she didn't call him on it. She knew that he had to put up his front, to be tough, to not hurt so he could get back to doing what he thought of as his 'job'. She just wished that he realized that they looked upon him as more than just his job, that the sum of _all_ his parts was what they cared about, and not just the 'hitter' aspect of him.

"Not yet," she said. "But you will be." At arm's length was not where she intended to let him stay.


End file.
